The snow goose need not bathe.

The other day I was telling someone I know about a thought I had. A couple Tuesdays or Wednesdays ago there was a really nice snowfall. I was watching it happen and thinking about this clean whiteness that stuck itself, clinging so quietly to the objects that it fell upon. I wondered what it must be like to be an evergreen or a fire hydrant, spending a few months under the mask of beauty. Just standing there, making other peoples' breath catch and slow when they look and notice. But you know, they know that it isn't themselves that is being looked at and admired, but is the glittering blanket that lay over them. Maybe those objects cling back, standing still as they can.